The Dark Moon
He crouched in the burning wreckage of his home. The fire burned around him. His parents lay dead near him. They had not helped him in their last moments but he had not expected them to.
He sat in an alcove near their corpses. The fire still raged and he struggled to breath. His eyes started to blur and stars popped in his vision as he thought, 'This is it. I will leave this place.' The sadness was overwhelming. Not for the loss of his life but for the loss of his future. He believed he would get out of this village and his hard life. Now, however, the fates had decided for him. He closed his eyes and waited to die as the fire burned around him.
Slowly the heat began to fade and then he heard a voice. It was low and gentle.
"Why are you in her light? She is so bright tonight young one. Open your eyes and tell me what you see." The boy peeked from one eye and saw a figure standing before him. He was a man with black robes and a bald head. His arms were outstretched and his hands were balled fists. The flames were much lower and a dark mist settled above them. His eyes were glowing in the firelight and a thin smile was spread across his face.
"You see her. I know you do. She has pulled me to you. Look boy...Look well. Her light will damn you."
The boy's gaze was pulled behind and above to the beautiful full moon above his head. It was a huge disk in the night sky. He felt if he reached out he could pluck it from the blackness like a round of cheese. As these thoughts crossed his mind his hand extended in spite of himself.
"Yes." The stranger said. "She has spoken this night. You must come with me right away before the light guides the others to us. What say you?" The strange man held his hand out. The boy paused for what seemed like a lifetime before responding.
"My parents did not love me." As the boy said these words tears sprung from his face. The strangers outstretched hand did not falter.
"She knows...She knows. You are hers now. Come with me and leave this broken life behind to be born anew in her darkness...Come."
The boys hand moved slowly forward before being snatched with lightning speed. The grip of the man was like a cold vice, locked in. The shock and pain of the hand made him gasp. He was yanked forward to look into his dark, cold, eyes. This was followed by a hard, lightning quick slap to the face. The child's head snapped to the side violently. The pain of the strike made him gasp as the air was expelled from his body.
"That is for your pathetic indecision. Control of our mind and body must be as all encompassing as her darkness."
His vice like hand gripped the back of his head as he led the boy away from the burning cottage.
"Look again now at the disgusting moon. Look well young one and know the enemy."
The boy was confused. Did he not begin their encounter with reverence of the moon? Or was it jealousy?
"You are extremely privileged. The Dark Lady never allows one so young to join our order but her sister desired you first. Taking away a useful tool from that bitch pleases our Dark Lady greatly. Are you listening boy?"
The boy, barely eleven seasons old, dared to glance up at the stranger as they walked briskly away. "I...I am...should we not attempt to stop the fire? Or perhaps find who started it?"
The powerful grip tightened again as the dark stranger stopped them both in their tracks before looking down at him with a vicious grin. "Started it? Why you did boy. You started it. Yes...now you know. Your journey of loss begins tonight under the bitch moon."
The monk knelt in devotions before his Goddess. The great black disk sat above the altar. It was encircled in a ring of deep, rich, indigo. The symbol of his Goddess, Shar, The Nightsinger, The Dark Lady. Goddess of night, darkness and loss.
The monk was naked before his God. Two fist sized pots sat in front of him. His hand was moving slowly and deliberately on his chest. In and out, in and out of his flesh he stabbed with the dark needle. Each stab of pain must be felt. Every bit of pain must be savored. The black and indigo ink filled his skin for many seasons. The black ink was mixed with the blood of her enemies.
A pause. His eyes never leaving the shrine, he had always let her guide his hand. The last stab of glorious pain was before him. His purpose would be made known to him. As he plunged the final black into his skin he smiled in ecstasy.
A dark hand made from the shadow weave caressed his flesh and by so doing, caressed her symbol. The symbol of his Goddess covered his entire chest. From his navel to his collar bone. The hands touch was icy cold and his heart was squeezed for a brief moment. A small feel of death, his fate if he were to fail her. The tattoo bound him to her more than any simple devotions could ever do. Her dark plan was whispered in his ear as the shadow hand rubbed his front. He was to be her quiet, unseen agent. He could never wear a holy symbol of metal or gems. His devotion to his Goddess must be worn on his chest, his flesh as this was his most potent weapon. It would only be revealed upon his death as that was the only way it would be seen. He must wear simple travel garments as he would be going across the realms doing her bidding.
He had been growing his jet black hair. It now rested upon his shoulders. He did not know why he was told to do this until this very moment. There could be nothing about him that marked him as one of her servants. Her and by extension his enemies were everywhere and he must walk among them. He must find the others. She would guide him in this. When all were assembled the next part of her scheming would be revealed.
The servant of Shar stood as the sweet whisper faded. He walked from the chamber to his humble quarters. He donned the simple travel garments and packed another. Dried fish and water were stowed away in his simple leather sack which he slung around his shoulder so it rested on his hip. He left the monastery in the dead of night. There was not a shred of moon light. Shar had swallowed her sister entirely. He walked steadily down the path from the monastery gates in the complete darkness of his lady.